J. Jance - Left for Dead

Then there was the money. According to the crime lab report, a stash of over five thousand dollars in hundred-dollar bills had been found in a plastic container in Teresa’s underwear drawer. Only one set of fingerprints had been found on the outside of the container. Due to the location, it was safe to assume the prints would turn out to be Teresa’s, although no copies of her prints were currently available. A notation from Lattimore indicated that her comparison prints were in process, but Sherif Renteria wasn’t sure what that meant.

The crime lab was proceeding with an examination of the cash, lifting fingerprints whenever and wherever possible. The bills from the dresser drawer, along with the ones that had been found lying loose at the crime scene after Jose’s shooting, all had traces of cocaine and methamphetamines. As far as Sheriff Renteria was concerned, that didn’t mean much. He suspected that most of the hundred-dollar bills currently in circulation in southern Arizona had been used in drug trafficking somewhere along the way and most likely held the same kinds of trace evidence.

The presence of flat-rate USPS shipping boxes in the search warrant inventory rang an unwelcome bell. He remembered seeing one of those on the ground near Jose Reyes’s vehicle. Was that how crooks were transporting drugs these days? In a way that seemed smart-a lot like hiding something in plain sight-but if that were the case, how did they get the shipments past the various Border Patrol checkpoints where drug-sniffing dogs checked every vehicle?

Unidentified prints had been found on shipping boxes but not on the packaged bags inside the shipping boxes. The prints had been run through the Automated Fingerprint Identification System, but so far there had been no hits. That was odd. If Deputy Reyes had handled the boxes, his prints would have been there, unless he had used latex gloves. Since he was a police officer, a record of his prints would be in the AFIS database.

So whose were the unidentified prints? Teresa’s, maybe? If that turned out to be the case, three little kids were about to be left alone, not orphaned but worse. The very thought turned Sheriff Renteria’s stomach. He went into the living room, retrieved a bottle of Jose Cuervo from the liquor cabinet, and poured himself a generous shot.

Back at the table, he looked through the blurry facsimile copies of the crime scene photos, trying to sort out how the shooting had occurred. There was a gravel road, a narrow single-lane track where it left the pavement, which widened into a turnaround at the spot where the shooting had taken place. Situated at the top of a small hill, it was unofficially dubbed Necker’s Knob, because it was a known hangout for teenagers bent on drinking and/or screwing. After the shooting, the other vehicle had been able to drive away without leaving any identifiable tracks.

A battered lug wrench had been found on the front seat of Jose’s patrol car. It was easy to assume that had been used to blast the dash-mounted camera off its perch. Pieces of the broken mounting system had been found at the scene, but none of the camera. The footage in the camera most likely would have allowed the identification of the vehicle and maybe even the shooter. But how many crooks bothered with that kind of detail? Scared of being caught in the act, they were usually far more preoccupied with getting the job done and then getting the hell out of Dodge.

There was a copy of search warrant requests that had been submitted on all of the Reyes family telephones, landline and cell phone alike. Phone records, both incoming and outgoing, made otherwise invisible connections obvious. The fact that Teresa’s phone was included in the request suggested that Lattimore suspected her of involvement, at least in the drug movement system and maybe even in the attempted hit on her husband.

Initially, that had been Sheriff Renteria’s inclination, too-to assume that both Jose and Teresa were involved in whatever was going on. The evidence found in the search of their home should have reinforced that idea. Instead, the sheriff found himself moving in the opposite direction. This was all too easy; too pat. If it was a setup, Teresa had been targeted right along with her husband.

So who was behind it and why? Who was easier to answer than why. The people who called the drug-dealing shots in and around Nogales were members of the feared Nogo Cartel, based in Nogales, Sonora.

For as long as he had been sheriff, Renteria had maintained a separate peace with the cartel, due in large measure to the fact that his cousin’s son, Pasquale, a boy Manuel had once dandled on his knee, had risen to the top of the organization. Once Manuel was elected to the office of sheriff, he and Pasquale had hammered out a live-and-let-live agreement. The sheriff would keep his department’s efforts focused on the needs of the people who had elected him while leaving the drug war to others-to the feds, the DEA, and the Border Patrol. In exchange, Pasquale had agreed not to target Santa Cruz County officers.

Sheriff Renteria wasn’t someone who went looking for a fight, but if the fight came to him, he wouldn’t shy away from it. If the Nogos turned out to be in any way involved in what was going on here, then all bets were off. Sheriff Renteria would do everything in his power to take them down, starting with Pasquale. Renteria would turn whatever he knew about his nephew and his cohorts over to Duane Lattimore.

Having made up his mind, Sheriff Renteria stacked his papers and locked them in his briefcase. Then, after pouring and downing one last shot of tequila, he went to the bedroom and fell into a dreamless sleep on what he still, after all this time, considered to be his side of the queen-size bed.

7:00 P.M., Sunday, April 11

Tucson, Arizona

Ali’s decision to call Haley Marsh turned out to be nothing short of brilliant. Haley left her son, Liam, with her roommate long enough to come meet Lucy and Carinda and to take them in hand. Two long days in the hospital had taken their toll. The novelty had worn off. The girls were tired and cranky and wanted to be somewhere that wasn’t a hospital waiting room or hallway. Within minutes of meeting Haley, Lucy and Carinda were more than ready to go play at what she assured them them was a “real” house.

When it was time for them to leave, Jose was sleeping again. Ali was helping load the girls and their gear-clothing, toys, and car and booster seats-into Haley’s minivan when she saw DPS Lieutenant Lattimore striding across the parking lot. Ali was on the phone to Juanita Cisco before he made it into the lobby.

Juanita had come by earlier and given Jose a retainer to sign, but she had told Ali she wanted to be physically present if Lattimore showed up for fear Jose might say more than was good for him. Ali hurried back inside and was waiting outside the door to Jose’s room when the lieutenant came down the hall from reception.

“You again,” he said when he saw Ali barring his way.

“Yes,” she said. “Me again.”

“I’m not sure what you’re doing here or why you think it’s okay to interfere with a police investigation,” Lattimore said.

“Jose is a victim of a crime,” Ali countered, stalling for time. “I think you’ve lost sight of that.”

“I haven’t lost sight of anything. When a crime victim is involved in illegal activities, it’s usually a good place to start looking for the perpetrator. That’s true even if the crime victim happens to be a police officer. I need to talk to Mr. Reyes and see if he can help me clear this case.”

“He told me the shooter was a woman-a woman wearing a head scarf.”

“So he’s been talking to you, but he can’t talk to me? And what did he mean by that-that she’s a Muslim or something?”